I found an alternate Three Little Pigs story and it ruined my life (horror story I found)
The horror started when I found a book in the library. The Three Little Pigs: The True Story. It looked interesting, so I plopped down onto one of the chairs in the children’s section and began reading.
From the first page, something was off. Instead of a wolf, there was some sort of monster with large, knife-like claws. Instead of blowing down the pig’s homes, it tore inside them. Each time, one pig was ripped up, graphically shown on the illustration.
As I continued through the book, I began seeing things. The pigs looked like my family. I turned the pages, seeing my own family being mercilessly slaughtered by the beast.
I slammed the book closed and threw it across the room. Everyone in the library stared at me. Embarrassed, I got up, put the book away, and walked home.
I couldn’t shake what I had seen in that book. It seemed so real. For the next couple days, any sound made me jump. I finally got it out of my mind a few nights later. I was lying in my bed when I heard a crash downstairs.
I raced down in time to see my father’s body parts flying over the kitchen. My mother soon followed. The beast from the book was somehow here. I was petrified with fear. My brothers and I watched in horror as our parents were killed right in front of us.
The monster turned towards us. I shook off my fear and me and my brothers raced into the basement, locking the door. I scanned the room for an escape, and saw the set of windows by the back wall.
The beast burst into the basement as I broke the windows and yelled for my brothers to follow me. I dove out of the opening, cutting my arm but suffering no other bodily injury.
My brother Brian followed me, but Andrew stumbled. The beast lunged at him, and I heard my brother’s screams of anguish as I sprinted away from the carnage.
The monster didn’t seem to follow us. Brain and I had walked miles towards the nearest city. We were nearing the edge of the woods when we heard a crashing sound behind us.
The beast was running towards us at inhuman speed. We sprinted away as fast as we could, but Brian tripped on a root. The monster jumped upon him, ripping him to shreds in seconds.
I sprinted until I thought my lungs would explode. Reaching the outskirts of the city, I collapsed into tears. The gravity of the situation finally hit me like a train.
A couple pedestrians stopped and asked me what I was crying about. I refused to answer until a kind middle-aged woman just sat down beside me.
She waited until I stopped crying, and then asked me what I was doing all alone. I told her my family was dead. After prodding the story out of me, she got the police involved.
They searched for my family, but found nothing. I felt responsible. After the incident, I travelled through foster homes until I reached adulthood. Nobody believed my story, but I knew it was true. I didn’t know how, but the book I had read that fateful day had caused all that carnage.
I vowed to kill the monster if I ever saw it again. Life happened, and I now had a wife and was the father of two beautiful daughters. My life finally felt whole again for the first time since before my family was killed.
My youngest daughter was learning to read, and she wanted to give me a goodnight story before bed. I laughed and told her to go grab a book. She came back with a book and started reading as I closed my eyes and listened.
The Three Little Pigs. All of the sudden my eyes shot open and I grabbed the book out of her hands. It was the same book I had read all those years ago. I saw the same images, but this time they were of my wife and children. I was horrified.
I ran over to the fireplace and threw the book inside, hoping it wasn’t too late. I told my family to lock themselves in the basement while I rushed to the shed, grabbing a weapon to kill the monster lest it come.
I sprinted back to the house and dashed to the basement. My family was gone. All I saw was a single bloodstain in the corner of the room they had been in. I fell to my knees in anguish.
Through my tear-stained eyes, I saw movement from the ceiling. I held my gun and began firing. I heard screams and saw the beast fall. I kept shooting until I ran out of ammunition. I saw the monster’s bullet riddled body for a second, then it disappeared.
Sobbing, I dropped the gun and fell to the floor. I layed in a fetal position for hours, crying until I had no tears left to shed. The neighbors called the police after they heard gunfire at my house.
The cops arrived at my home and seeing me lying there with a gun and whispering how my family was dead, they arrested me. I tried telling them what happened, but claiming a monster had murdered my family and I had killed it didn’t fly in court.
It was a very quiet case, almost like they believed me but didn’t want to. There was no news coverage as per usual in a case involving murders. Nobody outside of the courtroom learned my family was even dead.
I was sentenced to life in prison, and until now, I had not chosen to share my story with anyone. Now I have a chance. I am on my deathbed; these are the last words I may ever have a chance to say.
They don’t know I’m writing this, and it may never reach anyone, but if it does, this story is a warning. I don’t know if there are any more copies of the book. If there are, I don’t even know if the monster is still alive.
If you ever come across the book, destroy it, don’t peek inside even out of curiosity. That cursed book killed my closest family twice. The Three Little Pigs book ruined my life.
Originally found here: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/qhq9r5/i_found_an_alternate_three_little_pigs_story_and/
From the first page, something was off. Instead of a wolf, there was some sort of monster with large, knife-like claws. Instead of blowing down the pig’s homes, it tore inside them. Each time, one pig was ripped up, graphically shown on the illustration.
As I continued through the book, I began seeing things. The pigs looked like my family. I turned the pages, seeing my own family being mercilessly slaughtered by the beast.
I slammed the book closed and threw it across the room. Everyone in the library stared at me. Embarrassed, I got up, put the book away, and walked home.
I couldn’t shake what I had seen in that book. It seemed so real. For the next couple days, any sound made me jump. I finally got it out of my mind a few nights later. I was lying in my bed when I heard a crash downstairs.
I raced down in time to see my father’s body parts flying over the kitchen. My mother soon followed. The beast from the book was somehow here. I was petrified with fear. My brothers and I watched in horror as our parents were killed right in front of us.
The monster turned towards us. I shook off my fear and me and my brothers raced into the basement, locking the door. I scanned the room for an escape, and saw the set of windows by the back wall.
The beast burst into the basement as I broke the windows and yelled for my brothers to follow me. I dove out of the opening, cutting my arm but suffering no other bodily injury.
My brother Brian followed me, but Andrew stumbled. The beast lunged at him, and I heard my brother’s screams of anguish as I sprinted away from the carnage.
The monster didn’t seem to follow us. Brain and I had walked miles towards the nearest city. We were nearing the edge of the woods when we heard a crashing sound behind us.
The beast was running towards us at inhuman speed. We sprinted away as fast as we could, but Brian tripped on a root. The monster jumped upon him, ripping him to shreds in seconds.
I sprinted until I thought my lungs would explode. Reaching the outskirts of the city, I collapsed into tears. The gravity of the situation finally hit me like a train.
A couple pedestrians stopped and asked me what I was crying about. I refused to answer until a kind middle-aged woman just sat down beside me.
She waited until I stopped crying, and then asked me what I was doing all alone. I told her my family was dead. After prodding the story out of me, she got the police involved.
They searched for my family, but found nothing. I felt responsible. After the incident, I travelled through foster homes until I reached adulthood. Nobody believed my story, but I knew it was true. I didn’t know how, but the book I had read that fateful day had caused all that carnage.
I vowed to kill the monster if I ever saw it again. Life happened, and I now had a wife and was the father of two beautiful daughters. My life finally felt whole again for the first time since before my family was killed.
My youngest daughter was learning to read, and she wanted to give me a goodnight story before bed. I laughed and told her to go grab a book. She came back with a book and started reading as I closed my eyes and listened.
The Three Little Pigs. All of the sudden my eyes shot open and I grabbed the book out of her hands. It was the same book I had read all those years ago. I saw the same images, but this time they were of my wife and children. I was horrified.
I ran over to the fireplace and threw the book inside, hoping it wasn’t too late. I told my family to lock themselves in the basement while I rushed to the shed, grabbing a weapon to kill the monster lest it come.
I sprinted back to the house and dashed to the basement. My family was gone. All I saw was a single bloodstain in the corner of the room they had been in. I fell to my knees in anguish.
Through my tear-stained eyes, I saw movement from the ceiling. I held my gun and began firing. I heard screams and saw the beast fall. I kept shooting until I ran out of ammunition. I saw the monster’s bullet riddled body for a second, then it disappeared.
Sobbing, I dropped the gun and fell to the floor. I layed in a fetal position for hours, crying until I had no tears left to shed. The neighbors called the police after they heard gunfire at my house.
The cops arrived at my home and seeing me lying there with a gun and whispering how my family was dead, they arrested me. I tried telling them what happened, but claiming a monster had murdered my family and I had killed it didn’t fly in court.
It was a very quiet case, almost like they believed me but didn’t want to. There was no news coverage as per usual in a case involving murders. Nobody outside of the courtroom learned my family was even dead.
I was sentenced to life in prison, and until now, I had not chosen to share my story with anyone. Now I have a chance. I am on my deathbed; these are the last words I may ever have a chance to say.
They don’t know I’m writing this, and it may never reach anyone, but if it does, this story is a warning. I don’t know if there are any more copies of the book. If there are, I don’t even know if the monster is still alive.
If you ever come across the book, destroy it, don’t peek inside even out of curiosity. That cursed book killed my closest family twice. The Three Little Pigs book ruined my life.
Originally found here: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/qhq9r5/i_found_an_alternate_three_little_pigs_story_and/
